


Fitting

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Confessions [3]
Category: Soul Eater, Soul Eater Not!
Genre: Awkwardness, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Harvar has Ox’s elbow digging into his ribs and he can’t find space for his feet because of how the meister is angled over the bed, and he is sure neither of them are ever going to sleep again." Harvar and Ox try to literally sleep together and it is more difficult than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fitting

Harvar has never slept in a bed with someone else. It seems like a good idea in theory; he’s had Ox in his head during combat, after all, having him in his bed seems like it’s hardly a step up in intimacy. And he misses the other boy, has been missing him ever since Ox dropped into studying mode for the big exam coming up, and this seemed like a good solution.

That was then. Now Harvar has Ox’s elbow digging into his ribs and he can’t find space for his feet because of how the meister is angled over the bed, and he is sure neither of them are ever going to sleep again.

“ _Move_ ,” he hisses. “Your elbows are fucking  _sharp_ , Ox.”

“You’re kicking me,” Ox protests. “I can’t get comfortable the way you’re stretched out over the bed.”

“Do you always sleep under the blankets like that?” Harvar complains.

“How do  _you_  sleep?”

Harvar groans, sits straight up so he pulls the blanket off the meister’s shoulders. “This was a terrible idea. You should just go back to your own room.”

Ox huffs, sits up and reaches out for Harvar’s arm as the weapon reaches to push him away. “Come on, you’re just going to give up that fast?”

“We’re never going to sleep like this.” Harvar twists to shake Ox’s hold off but the meister just reaches out with his other hand to grab at the weapon’s shoulder.

“ _Stop_.” Ox huffs in exasperation, tightens his hold until Harvar stops trying to pull free. “You need to learn patience, Harvar, jesus.”

“You’re going to  _make_  me be patient?” Harvar growls, but Ox just laughs and pushes at his shoulder.

“Lie back down, Harvar.”

Harvar resists for a moment, more out of stubbornness than anything else, but then he gives in to the push of the meister’s hand on his shoulder. His limbs feel too long, angular and awkward and uncomfortable even on the softness of the bed, like he doesn’t fit right even before Ox slides back down to lie next to him.

“This isn’t  _working_ ,” Harvar protests, but Ox just keeps his hand at the weapon’s shoulder, drags him in closer until Harvar’s arm is pinned between them. It’s not any  _worse_  than before but Harvar still growls, wiggles in frustration as Ox shifts his weight. “This isn’t helping, Ox, I’m not  _comfortable_.”

“Shut up, Harvar,” Ox says, but he doesn’t sound angry as much as amused. Rationally that should fire Harvar’s anger hotter but it soothes him instead, calms the edge of his frustration so some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. “Lift your arm up and put it around me.”

Harvar huffs but does as he’s told. For a moment everything is elbows and uncomfortable pressure; then his arm works free, fits in against Ox’s waist, and when Ox leans in Harvar sighs in involuntary relief.

“See?” Ox says, only a hint of I-told-you-so in his voice. It’s restrained, for him. “Now bend your knees a little.”

“I don’t see how that’s going to help,” Harvar complains, but he does it anyway. Ox moves suddenly, there’s warmth and pressure for a moment, and then the meister’s leg is up over Harvar’s hip and half-pinning him down to the bed. The weapon goes perfectly still, all protest momentarily gone with the weight of the meister heavy and comforting against his hip and stomach and chest.

“Ox?” he says, sounding more lost than he intends.

“It’s fine.” Ox sounds sleepy, thoughtless to the comfort his words are giving to Harvar’s panicked pleasure. “Just relax, it’s okay.”

“You’re really close,” Harvar says, reverting to pointing out the obvious rather than trying to find words for the conflicting fright and desperate want offsetting the relaxation of the meister’s touch.

Ox laughs and lifts his head so he can press his chin in against the weapon’s head. Harvar tucks his head down, stares wide-eyed at the edge of collarbone he can see against the neckline of Ox’s t-shirt in the dark.

“Yeah.” Ox chuckles. “Isn’t that the point?”

“I guess,” Harvar admits. He tries to relax his arm around Ox but he can’t get his muscles to relax from the shivering tension contact with the other boy is causing. There’s a shift; for a moment Harvar thinks Ox is pulling away, and in the first moment of panic he realizes how much he wants the meister to stay. Then fingers land on his hair, comfort and affection in the gesture at once, and Harvar lets out a breath that sounds like relief as soon as it leaves his throat. Ox doesn’t say anything more, just keeps his hand against Harvar’s hair; after a moment the weapon takes a breath, brings his own hand up to touch against Ox’s back, just between his shoulderblades. The meister relaxes, sighs like he’s already halfway to sleep, and within a few minutes his hand slides sideways as his limbs go heavy with unconsciousness.

It takes Harvar a little longer. For a while he lies still, staring at Ox’s skin and listening to the other boy breathe. Then he laughs, softly so he won’t wake Ox, and shuts his eyes, and lets the weight of the meister curled over him drag him down into sleep.


End file.
